


D'y voir autant de bleu, c'était si bon.

by metronome



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Canon Backstory, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:54:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26601742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metronome/pseuds/metronome
Summary: They were both children of war, in their own ways.The Warrior of Light and the Lord Speaker both spent countless days labouring to the duties which ever called their attention away. For one slipping moment, between the concurrent events of war which crept on the horizon, they finally have a moment of peace.[Content warning: This fic contains references to my character's experience with war, trauma and early life abuse. Please do not read this if you find these subjects upsetting. Each chapter is appropriately labelled.]
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Original Character(s), Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ooooh boy! I cannot tell you how nervous I was to share this. I still deal with a fair bit of embarrassment when it comes to how passionate I am about my XIV OC shipping, but this one got me bad and I think it's because Aymeric is a very good man and Lucia struggles to feel like she deserves good things. They're weirdly a very good match, despite their polar opposite upbringings. 
> 
> Also worth noting that the implication is that Aymeric is canonically bisexual, while my WoL is I guess whatever the Eorzean equivalent of Pansexual is. This was pre-salt rock lore (very important), and I have chosen to retcon its existence.
> 
> So, yes, please enjoy the fruits of my labour and screamingly endlessly about my ship on Discord.

#  I. 

* * *

Ishgardian red wine is bitter and dry, with a touch of Bourbon smokiness that graces the back of your tongue moments after a sip. This is the Warrior of Light’s second formal dinner with the Lord Commander, leader of the Temple Knights, highest ranking member of the Holy See, and now the current Azure Dragoon, Aymeric de Borel - a man who, much to his chagrin, wore one too many titles.

In hushed whispers, between sips and smiles, they express an almost synchronized, long smothered sigh of relief. Idle conversation fills the room, and Aymeric can’t help but let a childish smile tug at his lips when he hears the Warrior of Light recall her past adventures - and, in turn, she cast her wandering gaze to his lips - upturned in a faint smile, lingering, returning the delighted expression with equal enthusiasm. 

A query removes her from her thoughts.

“What will you do now?” Aymeric begs, lowering his glass to the table, gently padding the impact with his fingers

Every move he makes is deliberate, admirably pleasant, with no foul intent. This is the Lord Commander that Lucia had come to know in her time in Ishgard, and Aymeric, who had allowed her to stand again. To be a hero, or something of that sort, in her own right.

_ Hero? … Is that what I am, now? _

That word is still so foreign, so weighted.

A look is shot her way, gaze demanding to be met in its gentle steadfastness. 

“What are your plans, for yourself, I mean?”

Lucia’s index finger idly twists locks of her short, shaggy hair in place, her pale seafoam green eyes meeting Aymeric’s own icy blue. 

“Ah! I did ask you this before, haven’t I?” an apologetic inquiry.

“How unfortunate to have our previous conversation derailed due to the circumstances.”

_ He seems rather eager to know,  _ a light yet nervous laugh escapes her as she avoids his look.

“To be honest, I hardly consider my own future -- rather, when I do, I think of the people around me and what I could do for them. It doesn’t feel right to do otherwise.”

The ashen-haired woman finds herself wringing her gloved hands together, grasping the fabric of her black dress, eyes dropping to the glass of maroon liquid below her. It reflects her gaze evenly, thanks to the natural light spilling in from the tall windows around her, and she can’t help but question her own answer.

“I’ve always told myself that a life spent in the service of others was better than a lack of purpose. Back in Gyr Abania, I…”

Aymeric’s face takes on a subtle forlorn expression as she trails off, but Lucia recognises that immediately, popping her chin back up regretfully - to speak silent words with a fixed look. 

He opens his mouth to slip out impulsive words, but catches himself, pursing his lips, then carefully confesses.

“I had no intention of dredging up unpleasant memories.”

Lucia’s laugh is surprisingly light-hearted in response, she dabs her rose-tinted lipstick gently with a dinner napkin to cover up her own smile. Aymeric catches its brief appearance and cherishes what few seconds he had, seeing such a shining sight.

“Silly me. That was so long ago, wasn’t it? I’m 28 summers old now, and I still remember the occupation of Ala Mhigo as clear as day.”

The Lord Commander hums with interest while taking another sip of his drink.

“I would love to hear more about your experiences, given you are comfortable enough speaking about them, that is.”

Aymeric recognizes when the Warrior of Light is entertained. There’s a specific squint at the very edge of her eyes, especially when she isn’t quite aware of the smile tugging at her lips. Shyly trying to hide her expression, Lucia turns her face, but she is far more obvious than she thinks.

“I’m rather surprised you’ve taken such an interest in my history. Are you wondering what kind of past could have shaped me as a person?”

Inquisitive. Sharp. 

That heightened attention to detail draws him to her. For a moment, he feels his heart race eagerly, furrowing his brow a bit in response. This feeling dances perilously between unfamiliar and far too familiar, splashing memories of his youth across his mind. The last time he felt this way, circumstances didn’t allow for that to grow. And now...

“Aymeric?” Spoken mindlessly, yet soft enough to lull his restless thoughts away. 

A smirk tugs at his lips.

“Ser Aymeric, rather. Or is  _ Lord Commander _ preferred?”

“Are we debating formalities now, Miss Elfriede? Eorzea’s  _ Warrior of Light _ ?”

Aymeric exhales, a hearty laugh following his shallow breaths. He examines the woman in front of him, beguiled by her character. She’s a rather tall Ala Mhigan-raised Hyur with olive toned skin, large - yet piercing- pale teal eyes with ash-white hair directly above her shoulders that has gotten notably longer since he last saw her. 

To him, she would fit right into Ishgardian nobility, but her past simply doesn’t allow it. Those who once stood within that class now occupy another - the House of Lords, though they may still turn their noses upwards to the prospect of him being so taken by a Gyr Abanian refugee, of all things.

How they could cast their glances downward toward the woman that near single-handedly saved their city is beyond his understanding. 

In contrast to the rest of her appearance would be her hands: calloused, with light scars that have healed over time, littered with bruises and short nails that are consistently cleaned. From the time they’ve spent together, Aymeric has come to know her as an incredibly pragmatic person, yet gentle and understanding - her hands were befitting of a knight, or perhaps a field-worker. The lace gloves she chose to wear to dinner today only barely covered her marred skin, but presented a dichotomy between delicate and scarred by experience when it came to her fingers. He noticed that Lucia often wore gloves to hide her hands away, but now, she chooses to display a transparency that was once absent. 

“I was a young healer in the Ala Mhigan resistance groups stationed near Southern Thanalan. I was eager to help in any way I could, even if the world had turned its back on me, and my people.”

Aymeric’s eyes widen in response.

“Ala Mhigo, my home… it was taken from us in a flash of fire. My father saved my life, as well as the life of my younger brother, by giving his own to bide us enough time to run. I felt that we were being watched over by someone, perhaps  _ Rhalgr _ himself because we managed to run for hours without seeing a Garlean soldier.”   
  
The Lord Commander finds this story all too familiar. His dearest friend Estinien was also robbed of his family by war, and so anger ate away at him, so much so it seeded a deep darkness within him for years to come.   
  
“My lungs were burning by the time we made it to another village, holding my weak brother in my arms. By then… we hadn’t eaten for days, the invasion drove the traders away.”

She laments her past, but with a sovereign strength forged through experience. The look in her eyes is of retrospective understanding - not one of bitterness, or regret. An admirable expression in the face of tragedy. One that Estinien could learn from.

“He still blames me for everything that happened, and I can’t help but think I was directly responsible. I believe his last words to me were, ‘ _ you deserve to suffer alone _ ’ or something of that sort.”

Another sip of wine, Aymeric can’t help but reflect his disdain for such an untrue statement.

“My younger brother and I parted ways when we were both still young adults, however… an Elezen by the name of Videl took care of me for the following years of my life as a refugee. He helped me live in Ul’dah, then eventually the Lavender Beds within the Shroud, and taught me the basics of proper conjury, and ah…”

Hm?

“We were lovers, for a while, though that did not last, due to some rather strong differences in opinion.”

Her eyes are downcast, yet telling in their depth of emotion.

Aymeric grasps her hands thoughtlessly, intending to reaffirm that she’s not alone.

Lucia lifts her head, shame weighing her shoulders down into a rather closed posture, avoiding his look, scared that he may unravel her with another touch. 

A listless sigh over avoidant eyes.

“You see, I have always been a fool, perhaps so much so that my heart aches for even those undeserving of pity.”

“I would hardly call the  _ Warrior of Light _ a fool -- you helped Ishgard against Nidhogg’s Horde, you saved Estinien’s life, you-” a pause.

“... You gave me the hope to forge forward, even after we had to strike down my own father. You are _ far _ from a fool to me.”

Lucia’s look finally settles on their hands, and she sucks in a quick breath of air, regaining her quickly crumbling composure. 

“Perhaps you’re right. I have plenty to live for now. Ideologies, leadership… people whom I’ve grown to adore over the time I’ve spent here. Even the people I’ve lost in the process...”

The raven-haired man’s heart is beating rather quickly -- he manages his equanimity, however, there’s something pulling at him. Something he can’t settle.

Lucia slides her hand back to her sides, rejecting his initiated contact and stands, excusing herself from the table. In that brief moment, Aymeric catches sight of her eyes, a complex agony pooling in them, yet there are no tears - her strength is incredible. He raises himself in response, and follows along the table to her side, allowing her an ample amount of space as he approaches. 

She doesn’t recall drinking enough to warrant this, but perhaps she hadn’t been paying attention - the warm feeling in her chest quickly became hot, and uncomfortably painful. Things seemed to spin more than usual. Anxiety made her shell brittle, and crack at the surface, even as she painfully held it together. 

Turning away from him, a misstep nearly causes her to collapse. Perhaps overwhelmed by the events that had unfolded over the last year as she had come to recall them, and the burden which hung heavily on her shoulders, her creeping enervation gave way to vulnerability long suppressed.

She’d spent little time caring for herself, so perhaps this would be the stone that broke the dam.

Aymeric, whose foresight towards her loosening inhibitions had pushed him to stand from his seat and escort her to her bed, grabs her without hesitation, bracing her impact and bringing her frame against his chest. 

“My friend, please, I can only imagine how exhausted you are. You carry the hopes and dreams of so many nations upon those shoulders.  _ Please _ , rest if you must. Without the assistance of wine, if need be.” 

She’s flushed, but her expression is unreadable. Gazing up at him for what feels like an eternity, with her chest pressed against his, she’s gripped by dread in proximity. 

They stand there, in a moment of silence, trying to find words to exchange.

The taller man gently places his hands on her arm, heart racing.

Her body is shaking ever so slightly - concern grips Aymeric, perhaps enough to reflect that in the squeeze of his hand on her skin.

Lifting her gaze to meet his, Lucia speaks hurriedly, as if the words would escape her mind entirely if they weren’t spoken then and there.

“Aymeric, the stars above allowed us to meet within the tides of life, and have kept us together thus far… I’m terrified of losing you. It seems that a trail of blood follows me wherever I venture, and… For everything you’ve given me… I...”

What he originally misinterpreted as sorrow now seems like nervous passion.

“.. I’m sorry, this is too much. I shouldn’t put you in this shameful situation.”

“I realise I’m being discourteous given the situation, but if you’ll allow me, I…”

Around them is silence. Snow falls gently, piling on to the pane below the windows’ frosted glass. A warm dusk light caresses them both, enveloping the room in a glow, where recent dust dances aimlessly in the air like small lucent specters.

Aymeric leans down, and brings his lips against her own, closing his eyes, unfamiliar with the feeling of kissing a woman. For a brief moment, Lucia was startled - she never expected this to happen. Not between the Warrior of Light and Lord Commander of the Temple Knights. Not between an Ala Mhigan refugee and the illegitimate child of an Ishgardian Bishop. Not between a man and woman strongly bound to their duties, yet… 

She found herself leaning into the kiss eagerly, hands on the mantle of his fur coat, pulling him ever closer. 

_ Please _ , she thinks.  _ Please let things stay like this, even for a moment. _

The seconds lagged in length, or so it seemed, as the build-up from the past months spilled over.

Lucia is the first to pull away, shaking breath, looking at him.

Aymeric lifts his head, eyes half-lidded still.

“My sincerest apologies. That was inappropriate of me --”

“No,” Lucia says, lips parted, “Please don’t apologize.”

She’s begging with her body, an ephemeral, concupiscent display for his eyes only.

“I wanted this. I prayed for this this.”

“And I as well,” he says, voice firm with resolve, “I want nothing more than to be here, by your side.”

Aymeric swallows and forces himself to inhale and exhale in the valiant effort of a consistent poise. This is _ the _ Warrior of Light, after all, before him in a vulnerable state. He cannot be anything but understanding.

Deep breaths. 

He briefly considers to himself: she is more than just that title. So much more.

To so many people across Eorzea, she is a symbol of hope, a symbol of attainable peace- she is, by all means, a saviour.

Lucia dances her fingers along his hand and pulls him a few steps forward, with her back against the wall behind her to maintain her balance. His face reddens at the idea of being so close to her, even though they’ve just shared a kiss. From his height, he can’t help but notice the contour of her collar bones that leads down to her chest. The cleavage of her breasts, which rest in the top of her black dress, atop his own chest--

_ I mustn’t, _ he reminds himself. _ She is a hero, you fool. She is your... _

Yet his body moves without him, drawn to her, longing for the fulfillment which brimmed in development for so long in the time they’ve spent together. In those limited moments after meetings and travel, where they would sit in peaceful relaxation, chatting about stories from her travels until matters forcibly drew them apart. Time and time and time again.

The dress draped over her shoulders leaves her tantalizing skin revealed; Aymeric leans in, ghosting the nape of her neck with his lips, making her shiver with the closeness. She can’t help but whisper his name in nervous wanton, breathing quickening as he closes the distance between their lips again. This time, there’s more power to the kiss, energetic fervor. She wraps her arms around his neck and lets him envelop her. His hands find their way down to her hips through the fabric of her dress, and through his jittery nervousness, holds her. 

Lucia grazes her teeth over his bottom lip, low-lidded eyes looking up at him, asking _ “Will you take this further? Do you have it in you?” _ and Aymeric rises to the challenge, sliding one of his legs between hers, top curve of his thigh against her groin, which causes her to gasp softly as she rocks against it. The sound of her small sighs between kisses and the look of her flustered face below him makes his pants tent noticeably, to which he tries to excuse by clearing his throat. She takes that chance to gently run her hands along his half-erection, admiring what she feels with an oddly satisfied expression. 

“We  _ could _ stop here and act like no such thing happened between us,” she muses.

Aymeric can’t help but smirk at the thought, “I would rather see this through to the end. I am a man of my word, after all. I always have been.”

Lucia tilts her head slightly to one side, chin out towards him, a smile tugging at her lips as she snakes her hands around his hips to his rear, pulling him closer with little strength. Aymeric’s breath hitches when he feels himself pressing against the inner curve of her thigh, restraining his reaction as much as possible, but he can’t help but grind against her, leaving trails of soft kisses against her jawline, wanting to take in the smell of her perfume - rosemary, lavender, chamomile, cedarwood - between breaths. Every bit of her nerves light up with his touch, and she quickly moves her hands from his backside to his head, running her fingers along his soft, wavy raven hair. 

In this tangle, Lucia finds herself riding the friction of his thigh below her, making her throb eagerly in his touch, but she stays in control. The lightness of her head makes every sensation vivid, and though she holds the reins, there’s a voice in the back of her mind urging her to let go.

Aymeric’s hands explore her lower body, curious impulsiveness beckoning them to continue moving. First, the curve of her pelvic bone down to the highest part of her inner thigh covered only by black silk. He grasps her legs, spreading them further, sliding his fingers between the sheer fabric of her garter and thigh-high socks to touch her skin. She’s hot, and the skin beneath her tights has the slightest bit of sweat on them that feels more erotic given their current predicament. Lucia’s body leans eagerly into his touch when he drags his hands up closer to her inguen. 

He had never known a woman’s body to this level of intimacy until now, only the simplicity of a man’s own pleasure, so he masks his inexperience and embarrassed expression, trying to gauge his success based on Lucia’s own reactions.

When he curves his fingers against the fabric of her panties, feeling the bump of her mound and further down, he’s met with a slight dampness, but is quickly stopped by Lucia’s hand gripping his wrist. 

“Ah -- Aymeric, wait-” 

He stops immediately, respecting her wishes.

Aymeric shoots her a troubled look, assuming he had made a mistake somewhere along the line. She bites her lower lip, cheeks glowing with embarrassment. 

Between their heat, they had forgotten that they were still in the Borel Manor dining room. Against a wall. Aymeric’s long-time, personal manservant knocked on the door gently, awaiting his response before entering and Aymeric wore a mildly aggravated expression at the thought of being interrupted, especially given how on-edge she makes him. He sighs, straightening his coat, collar and fur mantle out, brushing Lucia’s hair out of her face, taking her hand to help her walk back to her seat evenly. She coughs delicately, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible while she corrects her appearance and returns to an unoccupied seat.

“Please enter,” he responds flatly. 

The older gentleman steps into the room and exchanges a few words with Aymeric, before leaving a silver dish with a pot with Ishgardian black tea leaves steeping within and a pair of matching cups and saucers. 

Aymeric laughs wryly in response, pulling his jacket over the still vaguely visible bump in his pants. With quiet ‘thank you’s, they part ways. 

“Shall I prepare your chambers for two tonight, Ser?” The older man says in jest, bringing the silver dish he used to carry his tea set under one arm and showing himself out.

“That will be quite alright.”

Aymeric stews in silent embarrassment, before the door shuts behind him. 

Lucia can’t help but giggle, “I assume he’s watched you grow up before his eyes,  _ Ser _ Aymeric. He must only be concerned with your happiness. But, um - were we… are we that obvious?”

Aymeric takes the seat next to her, rather than across from her as he was originally, and distributes each blue and gold-trimmed cup to the saucers in front of them. For a moment, they sit in quiet, exchanging looks as the tea leaves spin and steep within a porcelain teapot. 

She wears an enamoured expression, as if she hadn’t had a moment to relax and enjoy a drink to herself. This is quiet, gentle. Peaceful.

His chest brims with that same fond feeling from earlier. Observing her almost callow curiosity when it came to Ishgardian culture and the environment around them makes him want to beg her to stay so he could truly immerse her in this lifestyle, but he knows she’s a woman in high demand, and he is a man of many roles, and that these moments they have in only each other’s company together are unfortunately rare in occurrence. After this, when is the next time they would see each other? When would he next hold her attention? When would they be able to lure each other away from the public eye that gazes upon them with such high expectations?

“I’m unsure, to be entirely honest. I suppose the longing glances from across our wartables, or perhaps the attempts to finally secure some privacy made this clear. Oh! Could it have been the eager steps towards the Congregation of the Knights Most Heavenly? Your lift guard seems rather _ tense _ when I’m around...”

Of course, he takes this experience in stride, but as he had come to know her better, he began to realize how desperately he longed to be with her.

This familiar feeling which he ruminates on, he fears admitting that it may be something akin to yearning. 

Something like love.

In this space, before him, he sees the woman who changed his life in her natural beauty, piercing eyes looking up at him, bright and bold. He reaches over to her face, brushing stray strands of hair away and leaning in to press his lips against her own again. It’s purely self-satisfying, and the taste of her lips lingers on his own long enough to act as a reminder that she’s still here. He pulls away, smiling kindly.

She gently fills the two cups with amber tea, specks of the leaves’ dust swirling in the center of the cup, then gently float to the bottom.

“You have lipstick on your mouth.”


	2. II.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You could practically cut the tension with a knife; or a sword, given who we're talking about. 
> 
> [Contains explicit sexual content/trauma flashbacks/description of injuries.]

Aymeric’s bed was bigger than anything Lucia had ever slept on, and as he lowered her onto it, she couldn’t help but relish in the comfort of the layers of sheets below her. She threw her arms above her head, letting her dress droop sloppily on her chest, hugging the arcs of her breasts as they fell away from the center of her chest. Aymeric centered himself between her legs which dangled off of the mattress, shaking his coat off of his shoulders onto the floor, which landed with a rather loud slam due to the weight of the mantle.

_Hopefully no one is listening closely._

Lucia deftly untied the fabric that kept his shirt in place, and began to peel it off of his body, eager to get the extra layers off - her attention had been quickly seized by the sight in front of her: Aymeric’s torso. 

The Lord Commander had been a temple knight for years before getting elected to his position through sheer perseverance and work. His muscles were defined along his abdomen, chest, and arms, but along his skin lay scars from skirmishes of the past, eye-catching ones hidden by his normally ornate armor. The most noticeable being a long, horizontal scar that ran along the space between two of his ribs - where he was stabbed last year.

Flashes of anxiety surfaced in Lucia’s mind as she recalls racing to Ishgard to check on him, eagerly awaiting any news from the Chirurgeons. The most recent of his scars must have been from his time being tortured in The Vault, by the Heavens’ Ward and his own despicable father. She traced her lace-covered fingers along the thin indents in his skin absentmindedly, with a gentle touch that says _I’m sorry_ , and Aymeric placed his own hand on hers, grasping it, and bringing it up to his lips.

“Such wistful expressions are not befitting of a face as lovely as your own.”

Lucia returned his grip delicately, meeting his icy blue gaze. 

“Now, if I may…” Aymeric gently released her hands, roaming along the edges of her black dress, sliding it up to her hips to reveal lingerie: lace-trim thigh highs that hugged her thigh muscles gently, a garter belt around her waist and underwear that sat dangerously low on her hips. He tried desperately not to think about whether or not this was deliberate but seeing her legs spread in front of him in such decoration made his spine striffen near immediately. He couldn’t hide his intent from showing on his face and smirked when he caught a glimpse of her rosy cheeks. 

Lucia arched her foot through her stockings and dragged it down Aymeric’s chest, slowly, over the bump of his nipple, along his lower abdomen and down to his erection, circling the base of his shaft through the fabric of his pants. He stifled a small groan in response, looking down at her disheveled dress, and creeping it up past her hips to reveal her stomach.

On her abdomen was a lengthy scar, of which he had no knowledge - not until this very moment. Lucia realized this much and promptly swept her hand over it, consternation acting as a vice grip on her breath.

And they all come back, like water flooding over a barrier she had worked so hard to build.

_Flashes of memories raced through her mind, twisted smiles and her shaking legs as she struggled to stand._ **_His_ ** _hands on her body, forcing her to kneel, to look him in his cold eyes, to be beneath him as her country had been crushed. She gripped her sword, fighting against his touch._

_Again, and again, he beat her down, until her final stand._

_Her sight-_

_hazed,_

_shivering._

_The world turned in streaks of colours, jagged images in front of her as he stepped closer._

_Like a hunter who has bested its prey, ready to devour their flesh, to break their neck quickly and make a display of their innards, his smile spread like jagged glass._

_“I can’t let this end here,” she mumbled in her broken state, anger boiling beneath her skin like charcoal coils._

_Zenos raised his sword, and in a single swing, ran the edge of his blade against her abdomen, spilling crimson blood against her jacket._

_“Stay down.”_

“This scar, this is…” she stammered as she rushed to cover the bumps of torn skin beneath her calloused fingertips, and her stomach burned with nausea. “This is… _was_ from Zenos.” 

Aymeric couldn’t help the horrified look on his face - this scar was rather deep and new. To imagine the pain it must have put her through made fury rage within him, only to be quelled by her other hand lightly caressing his face.

“Fear not, he is long gone.”

“Thankfully, you aren’t.”

“Perish the thought.”

He leaned down to kiss her, to remind her that no one will hurt her while he’s here and she reciprocated ardently, embracing the comfort he offered.

When they separated, Aymeric made haste of sliding the dress above her head and gently let it drop to the floor beneath the bed. The silk hid a black bustier, which tried effortlessly to contain her breasts beneath the stretch of her body. He admired this view in front of him: tousled ashen hair spilled behind her head on red sheets, with wine-stained lips parted; eyes that followed his every move and a body contorted with anticipation, but he restrained himself from moving too quickly.

Lucia took note of this and chose to pull at the ardor he repressed beneath the surface. Not to entice, no, she only pulled at the parts of himself that he hides away from everyone else. The parts of himself for her eyes only.

Separating their bodies for a moment, Aymeric took a seat beside her, sliding his white boots off neatly by his nightstand and undoing the buttons on his pants. Interested to initiate, Lucia dragged herself toward him, loosely grasping the hem which he fiddled with nervously. In a gesture to restrain him, she pushed herself on his lap, letting the curve between her legs pad the tip of his erection with purposeful delicateness. He braced against her weight on his forearms, clenching his teeth from the extra friction.

His reaction satisfied a bit of her sadism, but she knew better - this wasn’t her usual paramour, who thrived anxiously under her weight, eager for flesh. 

It had been a long while since Aymeric last had a partner, he tried desperately to keep control, to keep his body from reacting; he’d trained himself to have better endurance on the field, but in matters of the heart he faltered in all the same ways. It took much of his hard-earned willpower not to push her down immediately, to make a mess of her in ways he dreamt of doing much sooner than this if their lives had allowed for that luxury. 

He gasped when he felt her bounce on him again, sweat rolling down his face, and as if on cue, Lucia pushed him down. With his back against the sheets, his sight had been more than obscured by her lovely torso.

“I’d like to try something if you don’t mind, _Ser_ Aymeric.”

Sliding down to the edge of the bed, she began to disrobe him.

Aymeric raised a brow, but in that instant, watched as she yanked his pants down with shaky impatience - a weirdly endearing experience, given how stern she’d been about this. After what felt like a millennia for Aymeric in specific, she finally brought his tented undergarments to a full view.

For a moment, she looked alarmed and Aymeric couldn’t help but question if it was something he did. She laughed darkly, which elicited a quiet ‘ _hm_?’ at her nervousness. Lucia buried her head in his thighs, trying to avoid making her shyness too obvious.

“F-Forgive me, I’m rather intimidated now that we’re here.” 

Aymeric snickered, rolling his fingers along her own, warm predilection washing over his face, covering the previously wanton expression that he wore.

“How coy of you, Warrior of Light… saviour of Eorzea and Ishgard, freer of Ala Mhigo, Doma…” he can’t help but laugh. “My, my. You wear quite a few titles now, don’t you?”

She darted her gaze away anxiously.

“I’d assume being the person to catch _your_ eye is worthy of a title in itself.”

She danced her fingers along the shaft of his erection, following the motions with a tight grip and soothing into gentle tugs.  
  
Aymeric sharply exhaled.

“You jest, there is no higher honour than the Warrior of Light’s love.”

Pushing his head past the slit in the fabric of his undergarments, Lucia placed a gentle, but wet kiss on its curve, trailing saliva in her movement. As her hands continued to drag the fabric down, she took more of his shaft into her mouth, feeling the pressure of his size forcing her jaw wider. Aymeric swallowed a breath down, trying to keep his arousal deep within his chest, labouring to hold himself back.

Pulling her rose-coloured lips from the end of his length, she slid her tongue along the underside of his cock, tasting the salt of his precum from her earlier endeavours. He shivered at her touch, running his hands through her hair, guiding her back to the top. 

With a gentle cupping of his palms, he brought her head down further, feeling the warm, and wet skin of her mouth against him; pressing his head to the downward curve of her throat. Eventually, Lucia mustered the courage to take a deep breath through her nose and pushed his length further- slightly retching from the sensation, but still deviously dominating his motions to bait him closer to the edge. He gasped, feeling the warm movement of her tongue, and the tightness in her throat. If this continued any longer, he’d finish in her mouth, if she allowed him to.

  
  


But the pressure is quickly removed, as Lucia pulled her mouth from his length, saliva and precum alike clinging to her lips, she gasped for air. Her face looked desperate, foggy, and yearning to see him finish.

_But we couldn’t have that,_ he thought. _Not so soon._

Offering her a hand in order to help her readjust, Aymeric kissed those messy lips, running his tongue against her own, feeling his own taste in her mouth. If she were willing to offer that, he would see to pay it back tenfold.

As she readjusted to her position on the bed, sitting upright with her legs spread, Aymeric kneeled by her side, capturing her lips any time he could, savouring her taste.

“I want to make you feel good,” he whispered into the curve of her neck, dragging his fingers along the sensitive inner muscles of her thighs. 

“I want you to know that you deserve to be loved like this,” that same hand wandered further down, between the elastic of her black panties, past the slight hair which sat on the surface of her groin to her entrance.

Aymeric ran his fingers between her lips; she was wet - and clearly still recovering, as her breath shook when his fingertips touched her clit with gentle care. He slid the tip of his middle finger along that mound, seeing her body seize up at the stimulation.

Then, with a gentle deliberateness, grazed her slit with wet fingers.

“I’m going to push in now, is that alright?”

Lucia nodded her head, eyes half-lidded, looking at the taller man in front of her with adoration.

She had never seen the commander so smitten, but the look in his eyes…

… Well, it was something else. Soft, yet desirous, hungry, yet passionate.

His tan skin glowed nigh golden with a light layer of sweat, and Lucia let her head fall back onto the bed beneath her, closing her eyes.

This isn’t the first time she’d known this feeling - yet in the past, there was no desire to let go of herself. To feel so wrapped in this wonderful sensation of tenderness - of affection. If she could hold him and never let go, if she never had to walk out of those iron gates back through the snowy fields of Coerthas, her life could be her own again.

Aymeric slowly pushed a finger in, Lucia bit her bottom lip in response to the pressure as he curled it slightly. She felt spoiled; by Aymeric, by her dear friend whose bedside she’d left far too many times, as their ravishing of her body washed her in a pleasure like nothing else. 

This was something far more intimate, far more honest. Dare her mind wander about Aymeric, and how loving he had been about his touches, about the way he stimulated her body, ever so tender.

With her previous line of work, back in her formative years, these sensations hurt; to her, mentally, they were moments to wear a mask. To pretend that pain was pleasure. To bite her lips through the process time after time again. She’d adorn herself in white, perhaps to remind herself that there was something less robbed of purity around - something that wasn’t stained.  
  
Laying her onto her back, Aymeric continued to push further in, and thrust, curving his finger to hit _that_ spot. She couldn’t help but let out small moans, her toes curling at the feeling.   
  
When he pulled his finger out, she exhaled slowly, forcing her eyes open to watch his hands work at her. Seeing her hot and bothered turned him on, and he couldn’t help but run his tongue along the digit that had been inside of her.

She throbbed, flustered at the sight of him tasting her.

Before continuing on, he leaned down to her parted lips and captured them again, running his tongue along hers, sharing this new taste between them both. While he took her lips, his hands deftly worked away at her wetness, stroking her clit rhythmically, forcing her torso to rise and fall with the speed. She gasped into his kiss, quiet moans escaping her mouth as he slipped his index and middle finger into her again.

Her knees buckled to the feeling.

He whispers - “I’ll go slow, I won’t hurt you.”  
  
She wrapped her arms around the small of his neck, holding him closer as he laid small kisses along her torso, along her breasts. He ran his tongue along her nipple, gently rasping them with his teeth as he continued to push his two fingers into her.

Involuntarily, every muscle in her thighs tightened and pushed into his touch, rocking her wetness against his fingers, to angle her abdomen so he strokes that one spot-

And he knows when he has.

She moaned audibly, gasping his name, fumbling to grab the sheets beneath her as she’s stretched out.

Her breasts bounced with her laboured breathing, and Aymeric had never seen a sight more beautiful, and vulnerable than this.

“H-Harder--” she stammered between gasps.

Aymeric smirked to himself, obliging her wishes as he continued sliding into her, as deep his knuckles, curving them to stimulate that same spot he’s been working at. He sped up his pace, carefully slamming his fingers into her, biting her nipples just enough to make her body shake; marking the skin of her breasts with his teeth, with red spots on her pale skin; an act of ownership perhaps subconsciously laid.  
  
He wanted to so badly push himself inside of her, to fill her and feel her warmth around him, but his restraint won’t let him - not until her body is writhing, close to the edge. Not until she climaxes first. 

Her moans grew faster as his pace did, and she could feel her head growing lighter, sparks in her vision - the build-up brought her so close to the edge, relief barred by only a few more seconds of his fingers inside of her.

Then suddenly, the feeling stopped, and he slipped his fingers out.

In front of him laid the Warrior of Light, wanton, gasping, begging for more, her pussy covered in sweet slick, legs twitching as she danced so close to release. Her toes curled, seafoam eyes hazed with pleasure.

He palmed her ribs, pushing her down against the bed, careful to avoid the scar.

“Aymeric, please, please- I can’t - _ah_ -”

His erection throbbed, begging for attention as it pushed against the warmth of her thigh, his head still moist with her saliva.

“You want to finish so soon?”  
  
The question was sarcastic, but Lucia’s flustered reaction made it worth it.

She used her own hands to rub against her clit, observing Aymeric’s body, watching his hard shaft twitch unattended.

_Ah, this was like none other._

Aymeric slipped his hands to his shaft, stroking himself to the vision in front of him, running his fingers skillfully along his shaft, imagining what it would be like to have her convulse in ecstasy while he pushed into her, trying to draw out more of his slightly lost stiffness with every touch.

_Not now,_ he thinks. _Not yet._

He released his shaft and moved her hands away, taking over where he left off. Lowering his head between her thighs, he ran his tongue against the wet skin of her lips, then with the very tip of it, laps at her clit.

Gasping, Lucia gripped his wavy black hair with an unintentional roughness, gently pushing his face closer to her.

He relished in taking in her sweet and sticky skin, beating against her entrance with his tongue as he pushed in, stretching her out just the slightest bit, with hot breath ghosting her throbbing clit. The tip of his tongue beat against her wetness with unpracticed eagerness. 

His name escaped her lips, over and over, like she’d been calling for him, begging for him.

And in a few moments, white washed over her, and her body convulsed with pleasure.

She moaned harshly, coming against his face, feeling herself tighten. Aymeric continued at her warmth, pushing her orgasm further until she whimpered on the last moments of her rhythmic high, practically shivering, incoherency dragging her mumbles into soft gasps.

And in that moment, there was peace, and warmth, and a racing heart trying desperately to catch up. Coming up for air, Aymeric lifted himself up to meet her eyes, licking the excess proof of her orgasm from his lips.

“You make that seem sweeter than it is.”

Lucia wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and her body shivered with release. She found herself giggling at the enamoured expression on Aymeric’s face, and kissed him gently, nesting her face aside his own. He embraced her in turn, feeling her heart beating against his chest. 

“You really are such an attentive man, you know.” Lucia whispered breathlessly, as her body calmed from stimulation.

“I can’t help but enjoy what I see. A woman I care deeply about smiling, feeling a pleasure I’d longed to provide much sooner.”

“Aymeric,” in a low whisper: “I apologize for hiding this all from you.”

Behind the curve of his pointed ears, Lucia works to slide off the gloves which masked her hands. For the first time since they’ve met, Aymeric feels the unobstructed touch of her fingertips against the angles of his face. It doesn’t take much perception for him to realize how damaged they were - a clear sign of overwork, of abuse, and he sighed deeply at the prospect.

Without a second of hesitation, he cupped her hand beneath his own, and leaned into her disfigured palms with another kiss.

“These hands have both saved and taken lives in equal measure,” he stated.

Lucia’s breath nearly halted in her chest. 

“But you, my beloved Warrior of Light, my dearest friend, have brought a much needed feeling of hope to so many people.”

Aymeric stopped himself, gathering his thoughts.

“There is nothing more that I’d like to show you than my endless gratitude tonight. Will you let me take you?”

A bemused smile slipped to Lucia’s lips as she ushered him closer, feeling his length hanging between her legs.

“Such a polite lover, asking to be inside me,” she hums, nearly causing Aymeric to choke on her blunt words. 

Placing kisses along his jaw, Lucia arched her back and raised her legs, showing him the wet mess of her groin, and with her hand, gently spread the lips of her quim, amatively bearing herself for him.

“You are far too straightforward for your own good.”

Carefully moving forward, he gently thumbed over the curve of his head, bracing himself for a type of stimulation he’d yet to feel. 

Balancing himself on one arm, and letting her free hand guide him, Aymeric pressed against her entrance, letting the outer curve of his cock push against her wetness. She sighed at the feeling of his warm length against her, leaning against his hand that kept him upright. With his torso pushing her legs upward, he leaned close to the bumps of her collarbones, pushing the tip of his length inside of her.

Unadjusted to his size, Lucia gasped, biting her lip as the pressure within her increased. He slowed down, nearly to a complete stop to quickly whisper:

“Does it hurt? We don’t have to continue.”

She breathly gasped out the word _no_ , mindlessly kissing his hand that lay firmly against the mattress beside her.

_I could get used to this_ , she whispered, a coy smile on her lips. 

Continuing his previous pace, Aymeric pushed deeper inside of her, stretching her out as she neared the middle of his cock. Every nerve within her screamed in both pleasure and pain, and he’d taken her shivering body as a sign to slow his thrusts down.

The feeling of being inside her walls was far more than he anticipated, and he’d nearly come simply from the tightness alone. His mind begged for him to finish in her, to push in as deep as possible and fill her until her body was limp. The lewdness of his imagination ate at his focus, and when the opportunity presented itself, Lucia lowered her own groin further on his cock, enveloping all of his inches inside of the tightness of her, making him gasp at the feeling of her moistness sliding and dragging his skin. 

Placing a kiss on her neck, which he gently followed with the razing of his teeth, Aymeric pulled out slowly, then just as hurriedly pushed back into her, finding a rhythm that seemed pleasant for both of them.

Hardly unable to stifle her arousal, Lucia breathed out his name with every thrust, pleading for him to go faster, to go harder. He obliged her requests, only deliberately slowing down to curve his cock upwards within her, which caused her back to arch with every brush of his head against the sensitive nerves inside of her.

Sliding her arms behind Aymeric’s back, in their own mutual layer of sweat, she lowered her hips to his rhythm, bringing himself further and further within. They met the rhythm of each thrust with eagerness, hardly stifling their laboured breaths.

Barely able to piece together a coherent sentence, Aymeric spoke quietly between them:  
  
“Should I finish inside you, my dear _Warrior of Light_?”

Her heart beat eagerly in her chest, and she nodded to the question, watching his faltering expression as he finally let himself loose, with all of his carefully built restrictions gone.

With a rougher pace, to push himself towards climax faster, Aymeric pushed into her harder, a sharp gasp leaving his lips. When the build-up became far more than he could handle, with laboured breaths, he spilled within her, staying between her legs until the rise and fall of his climax passed, still involuntarily thrusting into her warmth.

“Stay inside of me,” she commanded, hardly speaking without shivering.

The heat within her dazed her head, and when he eventually pulled out, curiosity led him to spread her entrance again, watching as the white fluid, mixed with her own dampness, slipped from between her still twitching lips. He idly pushed his head back into her, gasping at the feeling on his length, and laying within her as the sensation passed. Something about this felt right. He could have gone again, and again, perhaps until reckless incidents left her bearing, but those irrational thoughts faded with their high sobering. 

As lovely as a future with her would be. As much as he’d dream of spending the rest of his days with her. As happy as waking up to her sleeping face will be, tonight would be a fleeting memory into an uncertain future.

Pulling his somewhat limp cock from between her legs, he kissed his drowsy lover upon her forehead, as she watched him redress in the room’s amber light. After a few moments of searching, he retrieved gentle cloths from his wardrobe, as well as a spare button down which was unfortunately all he had to offer. Sliding her underwear, and lingerie off, Lucia changed into his oversized blue shirt, hugging it close to her chest.

_It smells like him._   
  
She ruminated on the feelings within her heart as they pushed desperately up her throat.

Climbing into bed with her, Aymeric gently kissed her bruised neck again, grasping the outer curve of her thigh as he pulled his sheets over them.

As she leaned into his chest, feeling the warmth of his worked-up body on her face, she felt a rare sense of peace she’d long forgotten.

There was no war. No violence. No fear. No sadness. The sound of a beating heart, still fast from work, lulled her drowsy eyes into heavy exhaustion.

Drifting off into her first deep sleep in weeks, murmuring in her hazy mind, she spoke:  
  
“I love you.”

He held her close, with apprehension, worried about the slope in which they danced on the edge of. 

In an almost doleful voice, he whispers in return; “I love you.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aymeric and my WoL are kind of in an eternal one-upping contest with each other on who can make the other more flustered. Obviously, My WoL wins, but let's be real: he can turn the charm on pretty quick, too.


	3. III.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That night at Rhalgr's Reach will never leave her memory. She'd lost her home, again. Victory slipped from her fingers...
> 
> One voice of a man she'd met in The Brume echoes in her mind, brandishing her as a martyr to her cause with no sense of self-preservation.
> 
> [Content Warning: contains graphic descriptions of violence and implied self-destructive tendencies.]

Rip them apart. 

My hands are covered in blood, soaked to their worn down bones.   
  
The blood stains the skin of my bare chest, my ribcage that my skin clings to. Hungry. Dizzy. Pain. It hurts. It hurts so bad. 

I stare up at the man in front of me- no, on top of me; his face was contorted with pain and anger, burning white fury as he slams his fist against my face in defense. Leaving my vision distorted.   
  
The knife in my hands stays steady in his neck and his body convulses as I pull it out.

_ You bitch, you accursed bitch. You’ve brought nothing but misfortune to all of our lives _ he says between heavy, laboured breaths.

_ You killed us. You killed all of us! You’re a beast. Nothing more. _

My head can’t process this fast enough-

_ Did I do this? _   
  
I scream, more ferociously than I ever have and I plunge the knife into his neck again. I think I’m crying, but I can’t tell. Everything is fast, vivid, spinning. My throat is raw, burning, dry.

The world around me is distorted, and I can hear the voices of people begging for their lives.

_ I don’t understand. _

_ Did I do this? Did I do this to you? _

Behind him is my younger brother, who sits, shaking, sobbing and I twist my eyes shut.

When I open them again, the darkness fades to reveal a larger man with lengthy blonde hair and ice blue eyes-

  
He squeezes my neck tightly, holding me with a strength I could never meet.

He begs to see my anger, my hate, my bloodlust. To see the me who has killed before, who has bled before, who yearns for the adrenaline of survival.

My eyes widen, and I gasp, trying to bring desperate breaths into my lungs.

_ My head is swimming. _   
  
With the swipe of his blade he tears into my flesh, and the black viscera inside of me spills out for all to see.

_ What did I do, what did I do to deserve this? _   
  
Darkness is all-consuming; outreaching my hand, I look for any source of comfort I can find.

_ Anyone, please. _

_ Please help me. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do this alone. _ _  
_   
And like a light in the darkness, a familiar hand reaches back.

  
  


* * *

“My friend,” he says fondly, offering her a comforting smile.

She grasps it tightly, pulling him closely, running her hands through his silver hair in disbelief. Shaking as they embrace.

“ _ My dear friend _ ,” she stammers, barely able to get the words out. 

  
  
“I’ve missed you so much. My gods I’ve missed you more than words can convey.” Tears stream down her face, soaking the fabric of her jacket.

Ser Haurchefant Greystone -

He was a light in the darkness for me.

A light that slipped away, effervescent, like a lantern amongst the rolling waves; his warmth had been pulled from me, leaving a night, darker than any eventide that slips into an all-embracing blackness. A hug became a grip of falling ash, and from within her stiffened arms lie bones and blood.

_ For all the protecting you wish you could do, you hardly protect those around you. You try so hard, and yet... _

Red eyes against a deep darkness pierce into her very soul.

_ Yet somehow, how is it that those who want to protect you die? Do you think they begged for your forgiveness as they faced mortality? _

Hands blackened by flames grasped her thin neck again with a force she couldn’t withstand.

_ You, the you who kills yourself for others. The selfish you that hurts when those around you hurt more. Your self-flagellation. Your sacrifice. Your addiction to suffering. _

_ If you want to die a martyr’s death, stop being a coward. _

And in that moment- her eyes snap open to a cold morning, to the same snow that greets her every time she visits, and to a concerned lover who gazes at her shivering figure with worried eyes.

She’s gasping for air, with hands clinging to her stomach, an exhausted sense of fear wrapping its cold digits around her limbs.

“No, I… I can’t…”

Pulling himself from his drowsiness, Aymeric raises himself to grasp her face, to bring her into a tight embrace, to provide a warm hand as she had once done. His touch had been met with the heat of tears, which drip along the curves of her cheekbones from closed eyes.

Her body shivers in her quiet weeping, and he has no proper response aside from holding her against the soft fabric of his shirt, and stroking her back in the best attempt he can make at a cyclical, calming pattern.

“I’m sorry, Aym. Lately it’s been difficult to sleep,” she stutters between small hiccups and a tightened throat.

He kisses the top of her head, quietly nodding. Offering her a well-needed ear, he prys gently:

“You have no need to apologize for being human.”

Wind rattles his window gently, covering the sound of her shaking gasps.

“I can’t save them all. I can’t protect them all. How can I live with myself knowing that I’ve killed so many people? How can I be a hero that cuts down anyone that opposes me? Am I no better?”

The questions send shivers down his spine.

It’s a moral dilemma every soldier has faced.

But she’d been a conjurer for so long - to take life like this must feel sickening. It must eat away at her. His heavy heart hurt for her, unable to find the answers to her rhetorical questions.

“I feel nothing but shame for these hands dampened with blood. For my inability to deal with this darkness which lurks within. Perhaps Zenos was right, perhaps I am a monster wearing stolen skin.”

“We are all bearers of sin. Though you may carry a weight far greater than I will ever know, your love for others shines far more vividly than any darkness does.”   
  
Those genuine words nearly make her cry harder.

“You are a beautiful person, my love. You have amassed the hopes of those around you due to it - due to your radiance. Please rest easy knowing that we  _ all _ want to see your smiling face.”

Placing a kiss on her reddened cheeks, he brushes the hair from her face, which often covers her eye. There was no need for subterfuge, no need to dodge his looks again. She would know.

“I know I cannot undo your suffering and the plight you have faced time and time again, but know this: as long as I draw breath, you will be safe. ‘Tis my oath to you. I will protect your shine with everything I have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucia does not cope well. There's something cathartic about writing someone with similar but contextually different problems. For her: she feels that if she isn't helping somehow, she isn't doing enough.
> 
> But an important lesson in self-love is realising that sometimes taking care of yourself is enough.


	4. IV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An intermediate chapter to transition over to some more backstory.

_ Aymeric, _

> _ This is your inamorata now, it seems? Every time I bring you up, she has this strange, flushed look on her face. I asked her if she had a fever but she grumbles about having other things on her mind. T’was an alarmingly awkward conclusion to come to.  _
> 
> _ What have you gotten yourself into, now? You’d long forsaken your celibacy but the eyes of a whole nation are fixed on you. Her status as a hero aside, any one of those conservative lords within The Holy See will scoff when they realise her upbringing as an outsider, a refugee of war, and potential conflicts of interest… ‘tis your decision to make, as I am hardly in a position to criticise.  _
> 
> _ You should consider yourself a lucky man. Well, make sure she doesn’t accidentally view your memories or whatever that strange power of hers is. I’m not sure she’d favor what she sees. _

_ \- Estinien W. _

_ Addendum: You are far too obvious. Always have been. _


	5. V.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were always children of war. Perhaps they've known nothing else.
> 
> [Content warning: descriptions of violence/war.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, a little bit of context here that doesn't exist on AO3:
> 
> My Warrior of Light and her younger brother are from Ala Mhigo. They were both old enough to experience the invasion Garlemald made when transitioning over to Othard, and lived through it. Their father was a commander in the Ala Mhigan military, and was a tactical genius, who gave his life so they may live. 
> 
> Without going in too deep: they end up in Thanalan after escaping Gyr Abania, which is where Luciaen (the younger brother) resides - while Lucia goes off to study conjury in the shroud, which is where her story starts at the beginning of A Realm Reborn.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Vivid colours flash before me, a city enveloped in lights reflecting off of torn sunset purple satin flags flowing from the terraces of the buildings around them like wine from a goblet. 

I hear gunfire in the distance, explosions, screaming. Fear. 

The haunting groan of metal moving fills the air, there are these things - these  _ monsters _ lurking in the distance, shaking the ground as they push through desecrated streets towards further destruction.   
  
I’m rushing, running, moving as fast as I can. Dad always told me I was fast, that I would make my nation proud one day when I join the military. 

Yet, in front of me, there’s someone gripping my hand tightly, pulling, pulling me forward. Propelling me to move faster.

“Don’t look back.”   
  
I hear her voice, barely a whisper, but my ears are ringing. I nod, unable to stammer out a ‘yes’ between dry breaths.

The road is laden with victims, _ they’re hurt - can’t we help them?  _   
  
Ahead, beyond the smoke and ash that falls from the sky like snow, there are soldiers in black armour with guns pointed at-

People. People that look like me, in rags, covered in blood. They’re kneeling. Scared. Begging for the soldiers to let them go.

Some of their heads are down, down in the rubble of their homes, in the dirt beneath them, like a prayer.   
  
The girl in front of me yanks my arm, and following her momentum, I’m pulled into a shadowed alley of a partially destroyed building, the soldiers still in view. Shadows divide the light which illuminates her soft, yet grime-covered features, and her piercing seafoam eyes shine brightly from crimson flames and soft moonlight in tandem. Like my own.   
  
_ Please _ , the man on his knees pleads, hands behind his head.  _ Please don’t hurt my son _ .

He faces the barrel before his eyes, the soldier looks down as if the life being pleaded for is lower than dirt.   
  
And in an instant -

A pair of hands obscure my view.

In forced darkness, I hear the sound of ammo being unloaded.

Fire.

Then a thump.

“Don’t look!” the girl commands.

Her hands tremble as they press against my face tightly. 

“Where’s dad?” I asked, pulling at those hands to move.

I hear her laboured breathing, her arms enclosing me and bringing me closer to her, embracing me tightly.

The sun set red against a scarlet sky, encompassing the city in a feverish shade.

“I don’t know,” she says softly.

“But I will always protect you.”

* * *

Ash fell from the sky like snow, that day. Clouds of smoke billowed upwards from the streets that I once knew like trees in a forest, spiraling ever into the charcoal above us. Through those clouds, shone a crimson sunset, piercing the blackened smoke with a bright, warm light akin to the end of a burning match as night soon followed.    
  


The light passed over us, and soon darkness came, sweeping the city over in its longest night. 

With the last bit of light leaving the navy sky, with its hues of violet and orange lost to a sheet of slate, my sister wraps me tightly in a cloak she had pried from unmoving hands earlier.

  
“Dad said not to take things that aren’t yours,” I remark indignantly, as if I’m the one with a leg up in this situation.

“He wasn’t going to use it, anyway.” Her response is curt, quiet, as if she had been reciting it.

With the end of that short conversation, she fastens the cloak around my neck with a silver buckle and kneels down to my height, grasping my shoulders tightly with shaking hands.

“We’re going to sneak out of here, we’re going to be very quiet. We can’t stop for anything.” 

“What about dad? We can’t leave him. We can’t, sis.”

“Dad will meet us outside, where it’s safer. We cannot be here.  _ Please. _ ”

The girl takes my hand in hers, and brushes her lips against them, closing her eyes in quick prayer.

“May Rhalgr grant us the strength to endure what may come,” she whispers to me, and I can’t help but close my eyes in response, like I’ve been taught.

And after, I feel her hands ruffle my hair, and she squishes my cheeks between them. She’s always treated me like a child, even though dad says I’ll grow up to be a fine man.

“I love you, Luciaen,” she says with a smile.

“... I love you too.” 

And so we began our descent into the slums of the city, where a small group of survivors huddled for warmth as they made plans to leave and find shelter. We watched them carefully, grasping each other’s hands tightly, in the shadows of alleys and toppled houses. We let them go first, to find paths less taken. We watched as they were cornered by those armoured soldiers, shot down, and quickly ran to the very outskirts of the city.

By the exit leading into the stretching mountains of Gyr Abania was an armed soldier awaiting orders.

My sister puts her arm out in front of me, and uses her forearm to push me back behind her. 

Patting down her coat, she retrieves something long - a leather sheath, and from it, she pries a small silver dagger. She takes a few deep breaths, dragging me further into the darkness of rubble behind her and holds her index finger up to her lips.

Turning slowly, she proceeds to approach the soldier as close to the ground as she can be. 

And as quickly as she can, she swings the blade in an upward leap, aiming for the soldier’s throat.

Unsuccessfully.

Managing to knock off his helmet, she rejoices about her small victory - but not before he slams the hilt of his gunblade into her abdomen and quickly sends her back down into the ground. She heaves, in pain, as she stumbles to regain her footing. Her hood slides back, revealing medium-length ashen hair and angry seafoam eyes. 

“A kid?” The soldier remarks, rubbing his jawline where her knuckles and the hilt of the dagger she had grazed his face.

I watched quietly from behind, covering my mouth as anxiety built in my chest.

My sister stands up, blade in hand, without an ounce of fear in her eyes and faces this man.

“My name is Lucia Elfriede, of Ala Mhigo. Daughter of commander Varheirt Elfriede!”

The soldier, stunned by her confidence, lowers his weapon.

“That hair and eye colour… you know, that father of yours raised hell in the capital.” 

Embers of adrenaline burn in her eyes, and though her legs shake, she refuses to fall.

“Good. His face won’t be the only one you have trouble forgetting.”

With a pensive step forward, she arched her dagger to slash, only to be knocked back down with a restrained punch.

“Look. I’m a soldier, but I’m no monster. I refuse to kill a child who can hardly hold her own in combat.”

  
  
Ferocity still lights fires in her eyes, as she struggles to raise herself from the floor.

  
  
“Go. Your nation belongs to us now and will be ridden of your dreadful ruler and culture. Gyr Abania will give into the pressure of our might, and will be better for it.”

  
  
There are tears, burning tears.

  
  
“And despite this clear loss, you will still stand to fight. So, I suppose in a way, if you faced death so soon you will never truly know how your future will turn out.”

Shaking legs.

“So, go. Lest I finish you off myself. Here and now.”

Without hesitation, she motions for me, and without hesitation, I run towards her and grasp her shivering hands. Together, we take off for the canyons, praying that the night would provide protection for them. Just enough to make it to safety.

"I’m so sorry, father. I promise - I swear, one day I will come back home. One day I will bring peace to these lands. I swear it."


End file.
